Psst. Listen to this, Sis!
I’m going to whisper in your ear,
Because I don’t want Dad to hear.
This secret’s just come straight from Mum:
She’s got a baby in her tum!
No one must know, but you and me
And Mum, of course, but just we three.
I said to Mum I wouldn’t tell,
So you must promise me as well,
Then when Dad hears the baby’s cries,
He’s going to get a huge surprise!
Monty says: Children find secrets so exciting, they do find it hard not to share them.
A schoolboy trudged along one day
late for school but on his way.
Dreamily became aware
of the much polluted air.
Rotting slime and yukky sludge
tadpole eggs and oozing mud.
The smell came from a bunyip near
stalking very quietly in the rear.
‘For ages now,’ the bunyip boomed,
‘beneath the mud I’ve been entombed.’
‘Freed at last by recent rains
I’m suffering dreadful hunger pains.’
‘Although against the usual rule,
I’m very fond of boys from school.’
Its jaws opened in a wide green grin,
Drooling at what could be welcomed in.
‘Please dine with me,’ it begged at last,
‘And help me break this dreamtime fast.’
This offer was declined with haste
the schoolboy lacked the time to waste.
Suggested instead some gumtips tender
followed by trees and a broken fender.
The bunyip took obedient heed
and peacefully settled down to feed.
It ate its way through twenty trees
forty cans and eighty bees.
But because it wouldn’t masticate
indigestion was its fate.
It moaned and groaned in dreadful pain
and swore never to eat as much again.
It writhed and rolled and turned bright green
the sorriest bunyip ever seen.
With legitimate excuse for being late,
the schoolboy reached the schoolyard gate.
Arrived in class with pleased relief
but faced his teacher’s disbelief.
‘The bunyip legend needs no mention
fifty lines and another detention.’
But ever after as a definite rule
that schoolboy was in time for school.
And always it was his guilty fear
that something stalking in the rear
Very vengeful and wide awake
suffering dreadful stomach ache
Still hunted for the tender treat
of a tardy schoolboy ripe to eat.
The sun is warm, the fish are biting
Snapper, squid and shoals of whiting
Ice-cream jingles sound inviting –
Summer’s on its way.
The breeze is up, the current’s running
Tourists bare their legs for sunning
Seagulls stealing chips are cunning –
Summer’s on its way.
The sky is bright, the waves are rolling
Zinc-nosed lifeguards are patrolling
Cricket-crazy kids are bowling –
Summer’s here – let’s play!
Sometimes in the sunshine,
Sometimes in the shade;
Hiking through a forest,
Marching on parade;
Sometimes seeking shelter,
When the sun is hot;
Sometimes craving sunshine,
When the weather’s not.
Sometimes we are wanting
Warmth upon our skin;
Other times we’re wearing
What can keep warmth in.
When the weather changes,
We start changing too.
So it seems the weather
Tells us what to do!
Monty says: Thinking about sunshine, I began reflecting on how our varied experience of it constantly affects us. Using brief couplets seemed to underline the changeable nature of the weather and our response to it.
(after Charles Causley)
I am the song that lifts the sky
I am the earth that flames the fire
I am the cloud that calls the flood
I am the stream that draws the sun
I am the tide that drinks the moon
I am the air that sings the leaf
I am the bird that stirs the branch
I am the tale that flies the word
I am the note that spreads the song
Katherine said: Charles Causley, the Cornish poet, was a wonderful children’s poet. His poem (that inspired my poem) is full of music.
I’m sure that I can eat an orange egg.
You do not have to plead. You needn’t beg.
I do not think that I have ever tried
An orange that’s been boiled, poached or fried.
Nor have I yet consumed an egg that’s raw,
Been neatly peeled, and sliced up into four.
An orange placed on toasted sourdough
Is not a taste sensation that I know.
I haven’t eaten egg as marmalade.
I’m not convinced that it would make the grade.
I know! I’ll mix the two into a goop,
And eat them as an eggy, orange soup!
I say to my mirror: “Well, how do I look?”
The mirror replies: “You use your two eyes.”
“No, you don’t understand! Tell me how I appear.”
“You come through the door and then you are here.”
“But mirror of mine, tell me what you reflect.”
“Whatever’s in front of me, as you’d expect.”
“So, mirror of mine, have you no more to say?”
“Only: ‘Why stand and stare? There’s a party today!'”
Monty says: The desire to look good for a special occasion is common to children and adults alike. In this, the mirror is an indispensable tool, but we still have to make the judgments ourselves.
I love to look at snails,
‘cos they’re slimy little things.
I like to see their silver trails
on the grass’s wrinkly fringe.
I love the eyes that vanish,
when I poke them with a stick.
I love the way their spotted shells
crunch from just a little kick.
Mummy says that’s naughty
and I shouldn’t be so cruel,
but she poisons her whole vegie patch,
who does she think she fools?
My sister, she won’t touch them,
‘cos they make her skin go crawly
so I stuffed one down her neck
and now she feels quite poorly.
Still, I’d love to have a snail
as a very special pet
I’d take it to the letterbox
so it could eat the mail.
I’d set it in a gutter,
on a leaf made as a boat.
Mummy told me not to,
‘cos it will never float.
I wouldn’t let it try to eat
my nanna’s pretty blouses,
or let it make a silvery trail,
upon my grandpa’s trousers.
I said I’d wash it in the sink,
I know it likes the water,
but Mummy said she didn’t think
that I had better oughta.
I’d like to take it into bed
to watch it slowly slither
but Mummy told me if I do,
I might just wake up dead.
(and not from the snail!)
I’ve learnt it’s cruel to poke snails’ eyes,
it’s mean to crush their shells.
So, what I’ll do is watch them trail
through Mummy’s garden patch,
but write a sign to warn them
that they may have met their match.
Will you come to lunch with me,
Upon the grass, beneath the tree?
Will you bring a mat for three,
And picnic ‘neath the sky?
Yes, I’ll come to picnic there.
The grass is green, the day is fair,
And then we’ll play without a care,
My two best friends and I.
I’ll bring the fruit and fairy bread,
Cool drinks and cups and (as you’ve said)
A mat with checks so bright and red,
To sit on ‘neath the sky.
We’ll feast and laugh and climb and run
Our picnic day will be such fun!
We’ll spin cartwheels and when we’re done
We’ll watch the clouds go by.
Then when the sun is sinking low
And stars are warming up their glow
Fold up the mat, it’s time to go
We’ll bid a fond goodbye.
Until we meet again my friend,
We’ll bid a fond goodbye.
Australian Children’s Poetry 